


city of stars

by orphan_account



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst, Drinking, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, La La Land AU, M/M, Minor Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-05-03 17:56:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14574450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: In which Kuroo Tetsurou is an asshole who loves jazz and Tsukishima Kei just wants to get paid.(La La Land AU!)





	city of stars

Tsukishima Kei lets out a small sigh, which contained about half of his motivation to attend this afternoon’s audition. Kei reflects on his past of being the outgoing child. The child who played dress-up and planned theatre productions among the children of his small town. It was more of an instinct than a hobby, ‘fake it until you make it' was embedded into his brain straight from the womb.

 

“He’s got such a passion for acting,” the mother of the neighbourhood would coo.

 

Acting isn’t Kei’s passion. It was just something that he did. Kei had never used the word ‘passionate’ to describe anything he has done. Except for that one time in the first grade when some boys his class had a competition on dinosaur trivia. Kei was passionate about proving he was the most dino-savvy boy of room 4.

 

“If you want to become passionate about acting, you need to reach deeper inside.” his brother had told him countless times.

 

Kei would always roll his eyes or stick his tongue out in reply, shaking off his brother's advice repetitively over the years. He always managed to swallow the words that instinctively formed in his mouth and bubbled in his throat.

 

_I can’t reach inside. I’m scared._

 

“It was complete ludicracy!” Kei yells, to no one in particular, glancing at the white paper of his script to verify his lines.

 

Contrary to popular belief, he doesn’t do anything half-assed. It’s simply that Kei is often presented with ‘all or nothing’ ultimatum, and he often to chooses the ‘nothing’ option. (This does imply that Kei doesn't often exceed expectations either).

 

But, Kei's ~~mother~~ roommate has taken the initiative to submit him for a great opportunity, one that would be foolish to pass up.

 

In spite of Kei _trying_ to give this audition his ‘all’; some asshole has been shouting profanities (in the form of car horns) at his Prius for thirty seconds. (Which was idly sitting in the highway gridlock, traffic in Hollywood is _horrendous_ ).

 

The jerk in the red convertible pulls up beside him and honks one last time. Kei catches a glimpse of jet black hair from behind his own raised middle finger. By the time he lowers his hand, Kei notices that the traffic jam has dissolved, and _he_ is currently the asshole.

 

* * *

 

“Shouyou, open the wine,” Kei says dryly, stepping out of his shoes and letting his body fall onto their couch. Kei doesn’t think to acknowledge his other two roommates. His brain is fried and his heart is in shambles.

 

“Rough day, huh,” Koushi nods, sitting down beside his roommate and patting him on the back in a motherly fashion.

 

Hinata gingerly places two full wine glasses on the coffee table with a “Don’t mind, Kei!”

 

“The audition didn’t go well?” Kenma asks, glancing up from his phone.

 

Kei shruggs in response, sitting up and grabbing the first thin glass stem he saw, tilting his head back to take a large sip.

 

“That wine was actually for Koushi,” Hinata says, a little slower than his usual pace.

 

“Oh, I’m sorry about that. I’ll pour you another.”

 

“I don’t mind,” Koushi says quickly. “But red wine gives you heartburn, Kei.”

 

Kei looks down and swirls the liquid around in his glass a little bit, watching it thin out and become more transparent at the edges. “Fuck it all,” he says before downing the rest of the glass and retreating to his bedroom.

 

“We’re leaving in twenty, be ready,” Koushi calls out, words sounding muffled from the other side of the wooden door.

 

“You’re leaving in twenty, I am not!” he yells back, cracking his door open.

 

A flash of orange appears in the time that it takes for Kei to blink once. “Yes, you are! We even managed to convince Kenma!”

 

“No, I’m not.”

 

“Don’t be difficult now, Kei,” Koushi chides, appearing outside his door too. Koushi smiles softly, which is perhaps the most terrifying expression Kei has ever seen. (Excluding Kenma’s look of disappointment, which could probably make the devil himself get on his knees and beg for redemption. 

 

Kei makes the rational decision not to be difficult.

 

* * *

 

Kei spends an hour mingling with the other party guests, making starchy small talk. After receiving his fourth (alcohol-induced) offer of sex, Kei decides to distance himself. He needs a break from sleazy directors and prim violinists. He instead chooses to indulge himself in the free champagne.

 

A soft hiss sounds the air as another green bottle is opened. Kei closes his eyes and listens as the champagne is poured into glasses, reminding him of stirring leaves in a breeze.

 

The floral smell of the alcohol grows closer. Kei opens his eyes and wraps his long fingers around the thin glass stem of the cup, nodding to the waiter in acknowledgement. He stares into the cup for a few seconds, observing the finesse of the bubbles streaming through the grey-gold liquid.

 

Kei parts his lips and takes a sip of the champagne, letting the floral white taste flood his palate. Kei appreciates his alcohol, he was probably a certified wine mom in another life. But tonight, the most appealing feature of the drink in front of him was the imparted feeling of exhilaration it left flowing through Kei’s body.

 

After taking the time to worship his first glass of champagne, Kei quickly downs several more. Kei sulks off to the nearest bathroom when his buzz intensifies and stares into the mirror before splashing his face with cold water.

 

He runs a hand through his cropped hair- should he grow it out a bit? He adjusts his glasses on his face- should he consider contacts? Kei smiles with his teeth and his mouth closed- which one was more attractive? Kei lets out a chuckle and flings open the bathroom door, finding his own misery almost laughable.

 

Maybe it was the black frames tucked in his suit pocket or the alcohol coursing through his veins, but the dynamic movements of the party guests seemed slow.

 

Kei weaves his way through the crowd of dancers, spotting Koushi being twirled by strong arms and Shouyou linking hands with a stranger.

 

Kei feels his heart wrench, seeing his roommates enjoying the party. Even Kenma was smiling bashfully, talking quietly to a woman with blonde hair.

 

Something clicks inside of Kei. His feet were suddenly sprinting, running away from Prada handbags and 24 karat cufflinks.

 

Kei’s feet slowed to a walk and he realized that he was in front of his car- but in no state to drive. Contrary to popular belief, Kei Tsukishima was aware of his low tolerance for alcohol.

 

So, despite his exhaustion and general anguish, Kei begins his course home. The prestigious part of Hollywood was a dangerous place, a phrase which here means: “The smells that waft out of these restaurants could very easily persuade Kei to buy a bowl of pasta that costs half of his yearly rent.” But tonight, it was Kei’s sense of hearing that lured him into ‘Lipton’s Restaurant.”

 

His golden eyes barely scan the room before naturally focusing. In the middle of the dimly lit restaurant was _him_. The whole world melts away and all that’s left is Kei and this stranger. Mussed black hair and eyebrows knit together as he pounds on the ivory keys of the piano. His lips curl into a smirk as the trills slow down as he reaches the end of his jazz prelude, and Kei craves more.

 

The stranger soon approaches the door, face twisted into a scowl.

 

Kei takes long strides towards him. “I just heard you play and I wanted to say-”

 

Kei’s breath escapes him as his shoulder jerks back in the collision. He shoots a glare over his shoulder as he sees the stranger disappear into the night.

 

* * *

 

Tetsurou loves many things. He loves his mother and Mary Lou Williams. He loves opening the lid of the piano and letting the notes fly free into the air. He loves coffee with one tablespoon of sugar and he loves the smell of fresh bread.

 

Saying that Tetsurou loves jazz would be an understatement. Tetsurou would marry his piano and record player if he was given the chance.

 

He fiddles with the rewind button on his car’s tape player as he listens to the first few seconds of Thelonious Monk’s _Kojo No Tsuki_ for the fifth time. He taps his fingers rhythmically on the leather steering wheel, occasionally closing his eyes to envision the ivory keys of a piano.

 

Traffic was in a gridlock as usual, a common occurrence at American rush hour. Tetsurou had no real job to attend to, because his main business was playing at evening cocktail parties and seedy bars. But, Tetsurou did not leave his house to show off his 1998 convertible and bask in excessive amounts of CO. Tetsurou was on a mission.

 

A mission, that could not be completed until the _asshole_ in front of him decides to move their car. So, Tetsurou does the common thing in this situation: lays on the horn. Tetsurou honks for a (fruitless) fifteen seconds straight before pulling up beside the car and glaring. He shakes his head with disappointment and cruises down the highway.

 

* * *

 

“Mission accomplished,” Tetsurou grumbles bitterly under his breath, locking his apartment door behind him.

 

“What mission?” a voice enquirers, surprising Tetsurou enough to let out a yelp.

 

“Koutarou!” he huffs, stomping over to his brother.

 

“How are ya doin’ Tetsu? Still stalking your jazz club instead of finding a day job?”

 

Tetsurou rolls his eyes. “They’re calling it Tunes and Tapas. Can you believe it? They don’t even go together. Choose tunes, or choose tapas, it’s simple!”

 

Koutarou lets out a low chuckle and places his feet on the wooden stool in front of him. “That was the mission? Stalking ‘Tunes and Tapas’ like some crazed ex?”

 

“Well,” Tetsurou starts, pausing to yank the stool out from under his brother’s feet. “Get your blasphemous feet off of this stool. There have been legends who sat on it,” he hisses.

 

“Let me guess, Miles Davis pissed on the bush in front of the building,” Koutarou smirks.

 

Tetsurou picks up the dented french horn to his left. He presses on the keys, trying to find an outlet for his growing frustration towards his brother. “I was shanghaied!”

 

“You got ripped off, Tetsurou. Don’t make it sound so romantic.”

 

Tetsurou groans and decides to place a hand on Koutarou shoulder, gently guiding him towards the door. “Why do you say ‘romantic’ like it’s a dirty word?”

 

“I have no problem with romance,” Koutarou grins. “But I do have a problem when you’ve been driving without insurance. Stop moping. Find a real job. You’re a smart kid, Tetsu.” he says, slipping out the door. “And unpack all those damn boxes.”

 

“I’ll unpack them when I start my jazz club!” Tetsurou yells down the hallway, watching the white-haired man grow smaller. “I’m a phoenix, rising from the ashes!”

 

* * *

 

 

“Good to see you again, Mr. Sawamura,” Tetsurou greets his boss politely. “It’s a pleasure to work for you again, I am a changed man.”

 

Mr. Sawamura scoffs.

 

Tetsurou fights every nerve in his body not to _punch_ the man in front of him. He lets out a hollow laugh because he has no dignity left (only an empty bank account).

 

“No freak jazz,” says the frowning man, spinning on his heel as he retreats into the kitchen. “Play the set list, Tetsurou.”

 

Tetsurou rolls his eyes and calls out, “Wait, Daichi.”

 

“That’s Mr. Sawamura to you.”

 

“Ah yes, of course, Mr. Sawamura,” Tetsurou grins, swallowing the last drops of his pride. “I was thinking, this could work on a one for you, one for me basis?”

 

Mr. Sawamura glares, and Tetsurou feels his blood run cold. “How about all for you, none for me?” he corrects quickly, stumbling over to the black piano bench.

 

Tetsurou flops onto the bench and grimaces. He lets his hands play themselves into Christmas oblivion as his mind drifts. He thinks about Koutarou (it makes him want to rip his hair out), he thinks about Daichi (suddenly Tetsurou has the urge to cry). Tetsurou thinks about the asshole who stole everything from him, and Tunes & Tapas. He thinks about the attractive raven who served him coffee this morning and the blond who flipped him off on the highway.

 

His train of thought soars, to untrackable places. And suddenly, his hands have taken the initiative to snap him back to reality. Tetsurou looks at his shaking hands, trembling with trills and stretched in chords. He smirks because no one can stop him now. Koutarou can’t stop him, Daichi can’t stop him, and the asshole from the highway today can’t stop him either.

 

A few fateful minutes later, Tetsurou loses his job (over one silly jazz song, an unreasonable thing).

 

And standing in front of him a blond 194-centimetre roadblock. His eyes were golden and wide and _sparkling_ , but Tetsurou doesn't take the chance to admire them.

 

Tetsurou shoves past the other man, a very passive-aggressive move. He can’t even register the words that are being spoken to him because Tetsurou only hears a loud buzzing in his ears.

 

He takes off into the night, heart pounding. 

 

_Romance is a dirty word._

 

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/uncensoredblues)


End file.
